“Who invited the assholes to our party?” Falcyn snarled.
They were one of the few breeds that could infect a victim and turn them into mindless slaves. Or killing machines. Neither of which appealed to Urian.
He only killed on command or when threatened. As the old Daimon saying went—you protect those who stand behind you. Respect those who stand by your side. And defeat or kill whoever stands against you.
Suddenly, something grabbed them and they were falling.
“Blaise? What are you doing?” Falcyn snarled. “Hang on! Everyone stay calm!”
Falcyn scoffed. “Then why do you sound panicked and why am I still blind?”
Urian hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. A few feet away, Falcyn and Medea landed in an entwined heap.
“Hey, hey, love! You only touch the no-zone if you intend to make it happy.”
Medea grimaced. “There’s not enough beer in the universe for me to touch your no-zone, dragonfly. Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Says the Daimon crawling all over it.”
“Jumping off it, you mean, before I catch something I’m sure antibiotics won’t cure.”
Urian laughed. One thing he loved about his sister—she had a mean sense of humor.
Falcyn scoffed at her insult. “Not what it feels like from where I’m lying and you’re still on top of—umph!” He growled as she elbowed the air out of his lungs.
With a fierce scowl, he rubbed the abused area and pushed himself to his feet. “Blaise, what did you do?”
Another thing Urian agreed with. They appeared to be out in middle-of-nowhere Alaska, Nebraska, or some remote end-of-the-world apocalyptic location.
Blaise turned around slowly in a way that said he was using his dragon-sight to feel the aether. “Well, this wasn’t what I had planned.”
“What?” Urian’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You weren’t wanting a trip to Halloween Town? I’m so disappointed, Blaise. Was hoping to get my Jack Skellington underwear signed.”
Falcyn scratched at his whiskered cheek. “So how’d we get here?”
“Not sure. I was aiming for the parlor of the Peltier house.” Blaise screwed his face up. “Epic fail. Not even sure where we are.”
Urian let out a long, tired breath as he surveyed the twisted landscape. “I think I know. But you’re not going to like it. I sure as hell don’t.”
Medea pursed her lips. “Try us.”
Urian glanced around at a place where he hadn’t been since his marriage to Sheba. Gods, he hoped he was wrong. But yeah, this looked like the realm Ruyn used to party in for shits and giggles. “Myrkheim.”
Blaise made an expression of exaggerated happiness. “Oh goody! The borderlands where heathens go to rot! Just where I wanted to build my vacation home! Where’s a lease? Sign my scaly ass up!”
Medea rolled her eyes. “What’s Myrkheim?”
Falcyn laughed bitterly. “Guess the Daimons don’t spend a lot of time here as it’s not really part ofyourmythology. It’s a nether realm. A holding ground if you will, between the land of light and dark where the fey can practice their magick.”
“Whosefeyfolk?” she pressed.
Legitimate question, Urian supposed, as there was a lot of fey in the world to go around.
Falcyn sighed. “At one time, everyone’s. But nowadays, it’s mostly reserved for Morgen’s rejects. And some other IBS-suffering bastards.”
“Yeah, okay … So what’s the—” Before she could finish her sentence a bolt of light shot between them, narrowly missing her.
In fact, it only missed her because Falcyn deflected it. “Stray magick. You have to keep your head up for it. If it hits you, there’s no telling what it might do. Could vaporize you. Turn you into a toad. Or just ruin your chances for children.”
